Descendant of Madness
by Lady of Master Illusion
Summary: Whoever would have thought that Sheogorath, prince of madness, had a daughter? But she isn't any young lady, and due to the possibility of disastrous results, she is forced to remain a secret. However, the Greymarch draws near, and madmen aren't good at keeping secrets.


Do you ever have the feeling you're being followed by someone?

Someone who looks over your shoulder at what you're doing, and makes a comment?

"What is that song called?" "That wasn't a smart move." "Do you want to go eat?"

They might take on the form of someone you know. A character you like, perhaps. A nothing. A ghost.

And then you might accidentally respond.

"No." "Yeah, that's how you do it." "I'm not very good at this."

At first, it's in your head. And then, you actually say it, like there's someone actually there. You talk to yourself. You hold a conversation with thin air.

And then, people start to hear you. They look at you and say, "What?" like you were actually talking to someone.

But you are not. It is all in your mind.

Eventually, you start to realize that, there is something very, very wrong. There is no person of your dreams to actually talk to you when you're lonely and there's no one else around. There is nobody there who is interested in what you're playing. What you're reading. What you did yesterday. What you are thinking.

And then, you start to panic. What if I accidentally tell someone what's going on? What if people can read my mind and laugh at me? What if I die tomorrow, and never get whatever-the-heck done? What if there is no world? What if I'm dreaming?

Your mind is racing at thousands of miles per hour. Your heart is beating. Your eyes widen. Sweat trickles down your greasy forehead like raindrops on a window after a terrible storm. There are suddenly things that were never there before.

You grab onto the nearest object. A chair. A rail. A wall. Anything. You start breathing hard.

And then, you start laughing. Not a cheerful laughter, like a child being tossed in the air by their father, oh, no. A hoarse, off-key, maniacal laughter. The laughter of a homicidal maniac about to dismember his latest victim while they scream, forced down, unable to escape the torture they are about to endure. Oooh, that sounds FUN, all of a sudden!

Your brain flips through different ideas like pages of a book. Murder. Screaming. The walls. Pretty dogs. It is unsafe. People are keeping secrets.

And then, you collapse. Your mind breaks into thousands of pieces. The pieces are the different ideas you were frantically flipping through a minute ago. They scatter all over the place. You desperately try to pick them up. But you cannot. Each one dissolves through your limp, delicate fingers.

Suddenly, each piece of your mind starts to float in the air. Everywhere you look, they are all floating, rising, what are they doing?

They are joining together. They each take on a shape. A beautifully horrible shape! The shape of your new mind, the new you, a whole different person. An entirely new color.

The new mind reaches out to you with scathed arms. The hands wrap around your throat. They begin to squeeze, as hard as they can, suffocating you, cutting off your throat. You try to scream. You can't. There is no more air. No more air. No more air…

No more sanity.

The new mind takes over. It envelopes itself around the old mind. The old mind has withered and died. It is no longer in existence.

This new mind is full of life. It is full of great ideas! You will show these new ideas to the world.

But nobody likes these ideas. "Why is this person shoveling dirt on his roof?! Why is he hopping on one foot around the town in only his nightcap, screaming something about spoons?! This person is a fool!"

And they are correct. But you never come to realize it.

You cannot remember right from wrong. You only care about some foolish thing that does not exist, but you believe it does. A delusion.

This new, beautiful mind is not beautiful at all. It is corrupt and broken. You can no longer function.

You've gone mad.

And that imaginary person behind you at the beginning?

It was me.


End file.
